


I'll Shape Your Belief

by thecattydddy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chibi America, Chibi Canada, Chibitalia - Freeform, Family, Gen, but too bad, face - Freeform, i dont know if this counts as
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecattydddy/pseuds/thecattydddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and Canada were raised by loving parents and the world was handed to them on a silver platter. </p><p>Unfortunately, nothing can last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Kay, so I just want to say that the story will not be following the Hetalia plot to the T, mostly because I don't really have time to go back and find every single incident that mentions any of these characters during this time and then sort out what is canon and what is simply popular fanon, however I will be staying realitively close to what I remember and having mentions if canon incidents, Like Davie, for instance.

A soft wind blew across the fields as a young boy sat among them. His eyes were closed and he was nearly bounding in excitement. 

"You may open your eyes, Dear," a female voice said, and he did. A woman knelt in front of him, holding out a small rabbit. 

"Mine?" The boy wondered, holding out his arms for the small creature. 

"Yes," she nodded, handing over the rabbit and scooping the boy up in its place, "Everything you see before you, Child - From sea to shining sea - Is yours. Never forget that."

"Mine!" the boy cheered, a bright smile painting his face. She set him on the ground. 

 "I'm afraid this will be the last time I see you, Darling," she kissed his forehead. 

"What?" the boy widened his eyes, "Why? Where are you going?"

"There are men coming from across the sea," she explained, standing and looking off into the distance, "You must promise me you will be brave. I have seen a prosperous future for a young, lively, courageous man and I have great reason to believe that is you."

"I don't want you to go," the boy whimpered, wiping snot from his nose as tears pricked at his eyes. The rabbit stayed, loyally, in his arms - Almost comforting him. 

"Don't worry," she tapped his chest, smiling softly, "I will be right here; Always."

"Wait!" He called after her as she began to walk away, "Where are you going?"

"I must go talk to your brother in the North," she answered, "Do not be afraid, young one. Your soul will guide you." He stood, alone, in the field as she left. He wanted to cry, but he didn't. He pushed his shoulders back and stood valiantly, silently promising to make her proud. 

* * *

Europeans were really dumb. 

 Already, they'd stood around, bickering, for far to much time and the blonde boy was just about sick of it. He couldn't even understand then and was about ready to leave all together when they both turned to him. 

"We'll let him decide, then!" The one with big, bushy eyebrows and short blonde hair said. 

"Fine," the other agreed, brushing his own blonde locks out of his way. 

"Fine!" They both looked to him and he stood there with his eyes wide, like deer caught in a sudden flash of light. 

"Perhaps this will convince him of who to side with," the second man, who looked a lot like a girl to the little nation, said, reaching into a bag he carried with him and producing a small contain, which opened to reveal food. 

"Hey! That's no fair," the first man, who was far to loud and angry all the time, shouted. The second simply smirked and knelt down, holding out the container. 

"Come now, Amérique," the man offered. Never in his life had he heard the word, but he somehow knew it belonged to him - A name, perhaps. Fearlessly closing in on them, he reached into the container and withdrew a biscuit from within. He shoved it into his mouth and grinned, bits of food sticking out between his teeth. 

"Oh, that's attractive," the first man frowned. 

"I think he's cute, Mon Cher," the second insisted, ruffling the boy's hair. As much as he like to affection and attention and food, however, he had a feeling that this nice man would be much better with someone else - They needed him more than he did. He swallowed the biscuit down and giggled before turning on his heel and dancing away. 

"Hey! He's getting away!" The first man yelled, chasing after him. The second quickly packed his things away and followed suit. 

Just because he knew what his choice was going to be didn't mean he couldn't play them a little longer, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada is introduced (again) and America is an obnoxious, little snoop. 
> 
> Is anything different than usual?

The young northern nation didn't much like Europeans. 

They were loud and foreign and scary. It was only a few days since he'd said his last goodbyes to his mother when they began to appear. He hid behind a tree as waves of them appeared out of nowhere, speaking foreign languages and invading his peaceful home.  

At first, it had only been a small number of them, coming in little clusters. He had picked up bits and pieces of language from these people, but it was far from complete. His favourite seemed to originate from something called a France, though like hell he knew where or what that was. 

"Mon petite," a voice startled the small boy, "What are you doing, hiding all alone here?" He nearly jumped out of his skin at the man's sudden appearance. Cowering as the man approached, the young boy began to whimper. 

"There's no reason to be afraid," he chuckled, words flowing with the beautiful language the boy loved so much. He offered his hand, kneeling to make him feel better, "Come tell me your name. Where are you from?" The boy looked at the hand, noting it was the same colour as his. His mother had been a more tanned shade, but the Europeans were nearly as pale as the snow that fell in the colder months, in comparison. 

The boy took a step closer, placing his hand in the man's and muttering in broken French. 

"I come from here," he explained.  

"Do you have a mother or father?" the man asked, furrowing his brow and he held the young boy's hand in his own. 

"My mother has left for the West," he answered, "She told me that someone was coming from across the blue and that they would come to care for me, but all I've seen are scary Europeans."

"How did you get here in the first place?" the man questioned.  

"I have always lived here," the boy answered, "Before the Europeans ever arrived." 

"Oh," the man blinked, "Do you have a name?" The boy thought back to the last conversation he'd had with his mother before she left. 

"Not exactly," he answered, "Only my native name, but my mother told me I would be getting a new one."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, "Would you mind to terribly if I gave you a name?"

"No," the boy shook his head, "I wouldn't mind."

 "How about Matthieu?" the man suggested. The boy smiled, nodding. 

"I like it." 

* * *

A young boy crouched in a tree, holding back a giggle as the two men searched for him. He'd been come to learn a little of their language, but decided to focus more on the one known as English, mostly because he thought it sounded tougher and more adventurous. In the same sense, he'd decided to coin the name America for himself, and called himself by it, often, in his own mind. 

"The brat has wandered off, again," the man he'd come to know as England said. America looked up to him and admired him for his serious, warrior like attitude most of the time, but he found playing pranks on the guy was just as fun as anything else he did, too. 

"Maybe he's going to jump out and scare you, Angleterre," the one he called France laughed. 

America leaned forward to be able to listen better when his foot slipped, sending him falling towards the ground. His clothing caught on a branch much farther down. Scraps across his hands and face began to sting and his eyes began watering and a choked sob came from him. England and France, who'd just walked past that particular location spun around and stared back, startled to find the poor boy dangling upside down and crying behind them. England was the first one to act, taking the few steps back to him and disentangling him from the branches before flipping him upright and cradling him in his arms. 

 "Were you hiding in the trees?" England demanded, rubbing America's back to sooth his crying. He hiccuped and nodded, "Tch. Typical. That's what you get for eavesdropping." 

"Hurts!" America sniffled, holding up his hands. 

"Looks like you battered them up pretty good," England stated, gently taking one of them in his own, "Why don't we go wash them off, hmm?" America nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve and leaning his head against England's chest. 

"I had no idea you were such a family man," France snickered, falling into step beside England. 

"Shut up," England hissed.  

"Perhaps he'll start calling you Mummy," France added, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. 

 "Oh, can it, you git," England commanded. 

"At least he doesn't smell like a girl," America piped up, squirming around in England's hold to face the French nation, who responded with an aghast look. 

"Even the kid thinks you're a bloody wanker, Frog," England smirked, approvingly, ruffling the boy's hair. 

 "What's a wanker mean?" America looked up at England, who knit his brow together.  

"Nothing. Forget that word."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunnies and Nannies. 
> 
> This has been a basic summary of the History of the Americas.

"Why doesn't the other guy visit anymore?" America wondered, climbing into England's lap as they sat in the field. The older nation set aside his book and shifted America to a more comfortable position before responding. 

"France?" England clarified and he nodded, "If my knowledge serves me correctly, he found another young man like yourself to the north." 

"My brother?" America perked up.  

"You have a brother?" England raised an eyebrow. 

"I think so," America looked down at his hands, concentrating, "It's hard to remember. Someone told me I did once, I'm pretty sure."

"Who told you that?" England wondered.  

"I don't remember them that well," America admitted, "They stopped visiting me right before the Europeans started arriving. I know they used to bring me bunnies, though."

 "Bunnies?" England asked. 

"Yeah!" America turned to him, a happy gleam in his eyes, "I love bunnies! They live all over the place, here, but I can't ever seem to catch them."

"No worries," England ruffled his hair, "I'll be sure to get you one, sometime."

"Really?" America gleamed, "You'd do that?"

"Of course I would," England assured, "Anything you like." America's grin spread all the way across his face and England couldn't help but return it with one of his own. 

* * *

Canada waited patiently for France to return, although it seemed like months since he'd left and the lady he'd paid to care for the young nation just wasn't the same. 

"Matthieu!" she called him to dinner and he sighed, standing up and hobbling away from the shoreline. The home France had built for him was small, but it was more than Canada had ever had, so he appreciated it, none the less. Getting used to sleeping in a bed instead of the soft grass of the fields had been difficult, at first, but the warm fire during the winter months was more than welcome. 

"Someone is here to see you, Dear," she said, greeting him at the door. He curiously followed her inside. Sitting at the kitchen table was France, sipping at a glass of wine. He smiled upon seeing the boy and set the glass down before holding his arms out for a hug. 

 "Papa!" Canada squealed, jumping into his arms and allowing himself to be picked up by the man. His caretaker was putting on her coat and she said a quick goodbye before leaving them to be. Canada knew she'd be back as soon as France was going to leave again for Europe, but he didn't want to think about that. For the moment, he appreciated being back in his Papa's arms. 

"I believe the caretaker made something for us to eat," France stated, once the initial hug was over, although Canada was still settled on his hip, "If you'd like." 

"Would... Would you make something, instead?" Canada asked, hesitantly. 

 "Not very appetising, I'd agree," France laughed, "Let us just be grateful she doesn't cook as bad as Angleterre, oui?"

"Who?" Canada wondered.  

"Oh, I seem to have forgotten you don't know the other nations," France remembered, "Monsieur Angleterre is an acquaintance of mine - A rival, in fact. Him and I have never quite seen eye to eye. My belief is because he cannot quite see my eye. He is a rather small man, you see." 

"Is he smaller than me?" Canada wondered. 

"Very nearly," France poked his nose and the boy laughed, "But he's nothing like you, Mon Petit. You are cute and sweet and quiet while he is loud and ill-tempered. Still, what is a man without a little bit of competition, oui?"

"Oui!" Canada agreed, enthusiastically, "But you're still the best, right, Papa?" 

"Oh, undeniably," France assured, "And in cooking more than anything. Oh! This reminds me. I have something for you!" 

"For me?" Canada blinked. He nodded and set the boy down before walking out of the room. He returned in a moment with his hands behind his back. 

"Close your eyes, Matthieu," he commanded, gently. Canada obeyed, his eyelids sliding closed and he waited, patiently. France moved across the room, kneeled before the young country and then took his hand and placed something in it, "Okay. You may look now." Canada opened his eyes to see a stuffed bear staring back at him. The bear was at least if not larger than his own size and had beautiful, clean white fur. Big black eyes stared up at him and a smile spread across Canada's face. He snuggled the bear to himself, taking in the essence of roses and fine wine that France himself always seemed to carry.  

"You like?" France inquired, to which Canada nodded, vigorously, keeping his face buried in the soft material of the bear, "Good, good. I saw it in a storefront back in France and thought you might like it. Do try and be careful with him, as he is a tad fragile." 

"Of course," Canada murmured.  

"Wonderful," France approved, standing back up, "Now, how about we get some decent food, oui?"


End file.
